Give Me Your Love and I'll Give You Mine
by Constellations99
Summary: She promised him the sun and the moon, and he promised her a life by his side. She kept her promise but he did not. There is no one to weep tears for her, except her long lost children. And they don't even know that they do.


**Give Me Your Love and I'll Give You Mine**

**Prologue**

The first time he sees her, he is standing in the town square and laughing with the other commoner boys, trying to fit in. The sky is a bluish gray, and sunlight hits her hair at an angle that accents the red tints in her blond tresses. She is hurrying past the square, arms clutching a package, pink lips set in a straight line.

Wonderingly, he pauses in his laughter to stare after the girl. Then he asks one of the boys who she is.

"Her?" He nudges a friend, and they all snicker. "She's the tailor's daughter. Too uppity for someone of her class, if you ask me. Turns all the boys down, thinks she's really something." He leans toward him, and whispers conspiratorially, "There are some nasty rumors about her mother. She disappeared five years ago without trace of a body. Some say it's witchcraft."

He ignores the second half, childish town gossip, and watches her. "Has she lived here all her life?"

The boy gives him a questioning glance. "Of course. Not everyone here is a newcomer like you."

Disappointment blooms in his chest. What did he expect? That she was some faraway princess who had been forced to don rags and learn what it felt to be a lowly peasant for a month? Not everyone shared the same miserable fate as him.

Jean-Pierre returns to chattering about some latest scandal involving the grocer's son. The boys gossip like old women. He fights to keep his disdain off his face, but then sighs. Their ignorance wasn't their fault; that was just how these hare-brained boys were brought up. Besides, not all commoners were disgusting. The girl, for instance.

Against his better judgment, he leaves the town square to follow the girl. The others don't even notice his departure. Soon, he finds himself along a dirt path, walking towards a small cottage. The girl has already seated herself upon a barrel and is unwrapping the package. There is a glimmer of silver.

As he approaches, his heart begins to pound loudly. _Why?_ he wonders. "Hello."

At his voice, the girl looks up. Her eyes are guarded, but after a moment she flashes him a slight smile.

"Hello," she replies, setting down the package. It is a basket with silver ribbons woven into the straw. As she places it on the ground, the sunlight reflects off the ribbons and hits her face, making her skin sparkle. His breath catches in his throat.

"I'm Geoffrey," he says, shoving his hands into his pocket.

She looks at him carefully. "And are you here to deliver a message…Geoffrey? You may tell them the same response I have told them for the past month. _No_."

He is bewildered. "What do you mean?"

She sighs. "I saw you with them in the town square. Don't lie."

_Oh, she means Jean-Pierre and the others_. A sudden feeling of kinship washes over him; they share a feeling of contempt for the peasants.

"No," he quickly responds. "I mean, yes, I was with them, but no, I'm not here to deliver a message." He pauses awkwardly. Why exactly was he here?

"Oh." She delivers a genuine smile. "Well then." There is a long pause as he stares blatantly at her, studying her, while she fidgets. "Aren't you the baker's new apprentice?" she suddenly asks. She cringes at the same time he does.

"Yes," he says slowly. Yes, he is that bumbling fool Kirk's apprentice, if you could even call it that. More like servant. He couldn't understand how someone of such low class could stand to treat him in such a disrespectful way. Absolutely despicable. That man needed a taste of the dungeons.

The girl is looking curiously at him. Was his disgust written on his face? Quickly, he wipes his face clean of any emotion. "I hear your mother is a witch," he says, changing the subject.

A shadow passes across her face, but she is still smiling. "Who told you that?"

"Jean-Pierre."

"That idiot?" She chuckles, though there is a certain stiffness to her laughter. "Don't believe what he says."

"I don't. I just wanted to see your face." _Which is beautiful_, he silently adds.

She pauses. "Rumors usually spring from jealousy," she continues. "My mother was a beautiful, kind woman." Her voice has taken a defensive tone to it.

"I already told you, I don't believe in foolish town gossip."

A breeze lifts a tendril of hair onto her cheek. She brushes it back. "I'm glad," she says quietly.

The light has turned gray. He looks up and sees that a cloud has passed over the sun. When he turns back to the girl, she has the basket in her lap and is carefully studying it. Her eyes, doll-like in their clear blue innocence, sparkle gently like muted diamonds. _She is an angel._

As if she can hear his thoughts, she looks up at him. She blushes a light shade of pink and looks away.

"What is your name?" he asks. She knew his.

She pauses as if she is reluctant to tell a stranger her name. "Elise," she finally replies. What a delicate, perfect name for such a delicate, perfect girl.

"Elise," he whispers and takes her hand. It is cool and smooth. She gives him a shocked glance, but he ignores it. Quickly, before he manages to stop himself, he presses his lips against her knuckles. She closes her eyes.

"Elise, Elise, Elise." He cannot stop saying her name, so suited for him. He drops her hand and she opens her eyes. "Can you answer a question?"

She purses her lips. "Yes?"

His voice travels in a long stream of breath. "Do you believe in love at first sight?"

* * *

_Love is a fire. But whether it is going to warm your heart, or burn down your house, you can never tell._


End file.
